


Without Twenty-Two Days

by BrightlyBound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28397946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightlyBound/pseuds/BrightlyBound
Summary: “And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry-”-almost kissed Ginny.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 34
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beamwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamwrites/gifts).



> Is this an AU of my other fic, Twenty-Two Days? No, yes, yes, no. 
> 
> This fic has not been beta read, nor edited by anyone other than me. All mistakes are entirely my own.
> 
> (For beamwrites, who I accidentally unfollowed on Tumblr.)

**I. The Missed Opportunity**

**(Harry)**

“ _And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry_ -”

-almost kissed Ginny.

A split second of hesitation, and the opportunity was missed. Harry caught Ginny in his arms and hugged her tightly, the adrenaline that shot through him at the possibility of their lips meeting in the crowded common room vanishing on the spot, leaving him breathless and shaking. She fit so perfectly against him, and she smelled so good, like fresh air and sunshine. He could stay this way forever, just holding her.

But he was a certified, epic failure and stepped away to gaze down at Ginny with a smile that felt weak.

“We won,” she said, beaming up at him. “We _won_.”

There was a smudge of dirt right along her temple, and it was like an instant, out-of-body experience as he watched himself reach up and wipe at the spot, unable to control the urge even if he’d wanted. Ginny stilled, the room stilled. Someone giggled nervously in the background.

His heart clenched painfully as he fell back into himself, suppressed his feelings for Ginny into something small and tight and able to be hidden away.

If only he could convince himself to stop looking for it.

“Tell me everything.”

**II. Dazed In Sunlight**

**(Harry)**

If he could describe himself in a single word, it would be _pathetic_.

Class had just let out and a flash of red caught his eyes. Harry did it before she could disappear down the corridor: waved his arms over his head like a buffoon, calling out for her.

Belatedly, he remembered the company he kept.

Ginny waited for Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall with one foot propped behind her, fiddling with the ends of her long hair. As they neared, Harry noticed that Ginny’s lashes were darker than normal, and her lips were a glistening, bubblegum pink. He stumbled over his feet as they reached her.

“What’s on your face?” said Ron without preamble.

Ginny glared at him. “Makeup, arsehole.”

“What for?” demanded Ron.

Hermione hitched her bag higher on her shoulder, ready to tell Ron off by the look of her scrunched face.

Harry saved her the trouble and blurted, “She looks nice.”

There was a beat of stunned silence as they whirled around to look at him. Harry would be more than okay with a premature demise if it meant divesting this unwelcome attention. If only the floor could crack open beneath him then and there… and yet, he’d miss the way Ginny’s cheeks warmed and dimpled with a smug quirk of her mouth. The awkward moment was worth it, a thousand times over, to see her face light up like this.

“Thanks, Harry,” she said.

Ever the defiant prisoner, his heart banged hard in his chest.

_Thumpthumpthump, let me at her, please!_

Hermione loudly cleared her throat from beside him, and Harry started.

“Did you need to tell Ginny something?” she prodded.

He’d been staring at Ginny, more than happy to stand there and drink in her beauty for as long as she allowed it. Panic descended swiftly upon him like a Lethifold and gripped him in an unrelenting vice; Harry had just wanted to be near Ginny, if only for a second, if only to ask her how her day was going. With Ron and Hermione there, however, such a simple question was off the table. He had to come up with something good, fast.

“Er,” he said and began looking wildly around the emptying corridor for inspiration.

Beneath her breath, Hermione muttered darkly, “We’re going to be late for Transfiguration at this rate.”

Harry ignored this, his eyes skidding over then zeroing back in on a portrait of an empty field with rippling grass and swaying trees... Such a place would be excellent for a witch obsessed with Quidditch and flying and was the epitome of actual _sunlight_.

 _Yes_.

“The pitch,” said Harry in a rush. “We’re going to the pitch.”

Ginny kicked off the wall and bounced up on the balls of her feet. “What? When?”

Her excitement was contagious, and Harry’s pulse thrummed pleasantly, for _he_ had given her that feeling and no one else.

“Tonight. After dinner. Can you make it?”

“Yeah, of course! I’ll let Demelza know.”

Ron looked between the two of them, eyebrows knitting together in bafflement. “But Quidditch is over.”

“So?” said Harry and Ginny together.

They grinned at each other, and all Harry could think was, _you’re perfect_.

Still flummoxed, Ron said, “Is it the whole team going? What are we even—”

With a deflated look, Ginny cut across, “Not the whole team, I hope?”

“The original team,” said Harry. It took him everything to add, “Unless you want…?”

The name went without saying.

“No,” said Ginny firmly. “He can stuff it.”

They parted a little while after that, Harry light on his feet and on the verge of laughter from sheer happiness. Mere minutes in Ginny’s company had done this to him. It was as if he’d drunk a whole vat of Felix Felicis.

“When did you decide on meeting up for Quidditch? You never mentioned,” Ron said in a whisper while yanking his Transfiguration things out from his bag. They’d walked into class with the bell ringing, McGonagall frowning at them from her desk.

“I did mention it,” lied Harry, pretending to struggle with the stopper of his ink pot to save himself from facing Ron directly. “Last night, before bed.”

“Hmm. Must have fallen asleep already.”

“Yeah, probably.”

**III.** **Some** **Torture for Your Troubles**

**(Harry)**

This was his idea, and so this torture was, too.

Harry wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes off of Ginny even if she’d chosen to don a nonseasonal poloneck, so this getup she wore to the pitch, all thin straps and low-cut neckline, had his mind _blown_. If he’d been playing seeker, he could have climbed high on his broomstick and stuck his head in a cloud to clear his foggy brain from wicked thoughts that involved him and her and an empty changing room. With two-a-side Quidditch, and on opposing sides no less, there was no other option than to touch her whilst wrestling for the Quaffle, race beside her, her face flushed and euphoric and hair brilliantly wild, to watch her streak around the pitch, bent flat over her broomstick, to look straight down her top...

The curtains on his four-poster bed were going to remain closed for the rest of the year.

They were out for so long that the sun was flirting with the horizon. Curfew was looming, and the split team had been tied for what felt like an eternity. Without so much as a word, it was agreed upon that the next goal would be the end.

Harry was dodging a well-aimed Bludger from Coote, the Quaffle tucked firmly into the crook of his elbow, when an ear-piercing scream ripped through the air. He whipped around, his stomach launching itself into his throat as he spotted Ginny hanging from her broom with one arm, her legs kicking desperately as she began to plummet. He was not going to be quick enough, felt like he was moving in slow motion as he shot off towards her, the Quaffle forgotten as he willed his broom faster.

“Hold on, Ginny!”

Harry could hear Ron yelling at him from a distance, but he could not make out the words, not with blood pounding in his ears. He barely noticed Demelza flying in the opposite direction.

Just before he could reach her, Ginny miraculously managed to bring her other arm up and stabilize her broom. It almost looked as if she was walking on air. She shook her hair out of her face, skewed with not terror, but _laughter_ , and the hair tie that had been holding on for dear life finally plunged to the field below.

He stopped beside her hanging form, his jaw dropping with the realization that he had been utterly deceived.

“You cheat!” said Harry.

“Oh, bugger off,” said Ginny through gasps of laughter. “You’re such a Gryffindor.” She swung once, twice, then launched a leg up and over her broomstick. “And _such_ a boy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ginny smirked at him as she pulled herself up, then adjusted an exposed bra strap with a quick, knowing _snap_. Harry’s face went tomato red; he’d been caught.

“The oldest trick in the book!” shouted Ron as he flew down towards them. Harry had the presence of mind to wipe the sweat off his brow with the collar of his shirt and hide his flaming face for a moment of respite. “The oldest trick in the bloody book!”

Demelza and Jimmy Peakes circled overhead, cheering. Katie, who’d been the other chaser on Harry’s team, laughed as she approached.

“Might as well put our womanly wiles to good use,” said Katie, throwing an arm over Ginny’s shoulders and winking at Ron.

Groaning and grumbling about “deception” and “barmy birds,” Ron took off towards the changing room, the rest of the team lazily following, save for Ginny. She remained at Harry’s side.

They touched down on the field simultaneously. A very small part of him wished she would give him a few minutes to collect himself; he felt out of sorts, his heart only just returning to normal speed from her death-defying ruse, and the guilt of his wandering eyes was still lingering.

Matching his long strides towards the edge of the pitch, Ginny said carefully, “You’re not upset, are you?”

“No,” he answered. He slowly took off his gloves, switching his broom from one hand to the other as he tried not to look at her. “Should I be?”

“You’ve gone really quiet, is all.”

“I’m trying to figure out if I should apologize to you.”

It was a wonder he could get the words out; not only was he wary of being on the receiving end of Ginny’ wand for his blatant gawking, Harry was skating so dangerously close to revealing how much he wanted her that holding back was starting to get harder by the minute.

 _She’s Ron’s sister_ , his brain feebly reminded him. Harry easily brushed the warning aside.

Ginny huffed beside him. “Oh, please.”

Harry chanced a glance at her. Her eyes were sparkling brightly in the light of the setting sun.

“You can’t help being a simple-minded boy.”

Harry burst with relieved laughter. “Well spotted.”

“Besides,” she said cheerfully, pushing the changing room door open with her shoulder as they came upon it, “that kind of attention from you is always welcome.”

Heat blazed through his body and ignited Harry’s cheeks blood red, and he stopped so suddenly in the threshold that the door almost swung back onto his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**IV. The Missing Hair Tie**

**(Ginny)**

The fine hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end, and Ginny twisted around. Someone was watching her, but the corridor was dark and packed with two houses worth of students from her year. She searched the crowd, biting her lip, until her friend whispered in her ear.

“Potter, two o’clock.”

She spotted him then, miraculously alone and roughly a head above the crowd, his hair perfectly disheveled and his glasses tipped crookedly to one side. Of its own accord, Ginny’s hand flew to her hair, tucking it behind one ear, adjusting several strands over her shoulder just so. It was the stupidest habit, and she only fell prey to it when he was near.

Harry came to a stop before her, smiling blandly at her friends as they sank back to give them privacy. Then he was looking at her and doing that thing with his mouth where it slid into an easy, soft sort of slant that she’d never seen him give to anyone else before.

He must not have shaved this morning, for his jawline held more than a five o’clock shadow. Ginny wrangled her hand out of her hair and clutched at the strap of her heavy bag. It was all she could do to keep herself from reaching over and touching him somewhere, _anywhere_.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” Her voice sounded foreign to her ears, high-pitched and breathless.

His eyes searched her face. For what, she did not know, but her fingers twitched, itching to feel her chin for spots, or the corners of her mouth for food, or beneath her eyes for mascara residue.

“You’re staring.” A cold sweat was beginning to form along the base of her neck, and she made a quick, fluttering gesture around her face. “Is there something—”

“Sorry,” said Harry, and he sounded somewhat panicked. “You don’t—it’s fine. You’re fine. Your face is fine.”

Ginny nodded, kept nodding, nodded so much she would surely get a headache.

She wondered if she’d made a mistake last night at the pitch by being so forward with him. There was a slight awkwardness in his stance now, like he was unsure of her, and Ginny could curse herself for her obnoxious nature.

If they remained friends for the rest of their lives, so that she might delight in his rare, wonderful smiles and orbit in his sweet nature and fondness for her family, it would be _more_ than enough for her. But she seemed to be ruining it all with her ridiculousness and intense longing for him. Ginny swore to herself after years of being in absolute torment in his presence that she would remain calm and easy-going when it came to Harry. Instead she felt foolish and _eleven_ again, desperately thrusting pieces of herself right into his hands, to do with what he pleased, even if it meant _breaking_ her.

“Sorry,” Harry said again, grimacing. “I just came to… you left this at the pitch.”

He shook back the sleeve of his robe to reveal a bright purple hair tie encircling his wrist.

“Oh! I was looking for that.”

Without thinking, Ginny took his hand. Like magic, time slowed down as she held it, warm and large and far more calloused than hers; this split second, she knew, would remain with her forever. She blew out a breath, a weak attempt to level her frazzled nerves.

Bending close to speak into her ear, Harry said softly, “It’s your favorite one, right?”

Time came to a full, sudden stop, then _ran_. Alarm bells blared in her head and the snitches in her belly that fluttered awake in Harry’s proximity went into a wild and instant frenzy, and it was like she was tipping blindly into hysteria, unsure of what was real anymore, of what to make of this fantasy she’d been dropped into. Ginny pulled back enough to stare up at him.

When it came to the opposite sex, Ginny’s one true weakness was an honest to Merlin nice guy. It had gotten her in trouble on one occasion she dared not dwell on often, but this was entirely unfair. Harry was _always_ nice to her. Was she supposed to decipher his intentions favorably, or was this some trick her brain decided to pull?

With shaking fingers, Ginny slipped the hair tie off his wrist and on to hers. The pulse point there beat enthusiastically beneath the warm band.

“It is my favorite,” she confirmed quietly, feeling small and unsure.

Every part of her was pulling and pushing and building…

_Ask him. Just_ ask _him!_

_Bad idea! Abort! Abort!_

She searched his brilliant green eyes, felt sure he just needed a nudge, and pushed her hesitation aside to jump off the edge.

“How did you know?”

_Bang_!

The door to the dungeon classroom of Professor Snape flew open, rebounding off the wall and causing everyone in the general vicinity to jump a foot in the air.

“In!” said Snape, looming in the doorway. His eyes zeroed in almost immediately on Harry. “What are you doing here, Potter? Class and detention not enough for you?”

“Class and detention are both too much of you.” And Harry added as an afterthought, “Sir.”

“Ten points from Gryffindor!”

**V. The Tell is in The Soup**

**(Harry)**

“What the bloody hell happened to you?” Ron exclaimed through a mouthful of food.

Harry looked up from his plate, his few remaining crisps promptly forgotten. Ginny was settling across from him, her jaw wrapped in bandages and a large bow of gauze knotted crookedly atop her head. His body gave a great jerk as if to stand up and go to her, but he managed to fight the urge and play off the physical reaction by adjusting the seat of his robes.

Ginny gave her brother an annoyed look and mumbled, “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“It’s Professor Snape’s fault,” explained Demelza, who Harry only just noticed joined them. “Ginny took a stinging jinx to the face during a dueling exercise and fell against the corner of a desk. He wouldn’t let her see Madam Pompfrey until class was over.”

“Slimy git,” said Ron.

Harry wholeheartedly agreed with Ron’s statement, and wondered briefly how he would kill the man if the opportunity ever arose. _Avada Kedavra_ was too quick… perhaps a push off the Astronomy Tower? But how would he get Snape up there?

“Madam Pomfrey said I’ll be right as rain by tonight.” Ginny looked at the scarce lunch options in a dazed sort of way. “Merlin, I’m starving.”

“There’s a cauldron of chicken soup by that blond-haired boy over there.” Hermione tilted her head towards a group of seventh years a couple benches down. “I think he’s called Pendleton. He likes you, by the way,” she added.

“ _Me_?” said Ginny, whirling around to look.

Something sour swirled in Harry’s stomach as he forced himself not to glance over, too. Why did Hermione have to announce this aloud, with no warning whatsoever? No one needed to know such private information, especially him, especially _Ginny._ She was the last person who needed to know when a bloke fancied her, really. Absolute last.

“Makes sense as to why they’ve been creeping up on our lunch space lately,” remarked Demelza breezily as she began piling her plate with sandwiches.

“He’s pretty close with Mc—I met him at—I met him once.” Red-faced, Hermione threw a cautious look at Ron. “Dumb as rocks.”

“But he’s cute!” said Demelza, smiling wickedly at Ginny, who scowled at her in return. “Doesn’t that mouth look _pleasant?_ ”

From beside him, Ron made a disgusted noise, one Harry would have replicated if not for the sinking feeling that his best mate would react the same way if he ever found out about Harry’s massive crush on Ginny.

“He’s trying to see how many grapes he can stuff in it at the moment,” said Ginny with a roll of her eyes. “So no, not pleasant.”

“Well, what about his eyes? They’re— _hey_!”

With a lightning quick jab, Ginny elbowed the goblet at her side. It fell over with a _clank_ and splashed water down Demelza’s side of the table and into her lap.

“Whoops,” said Ginny tonelessly. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

Demelza quickly mopped up the mess, muttering beneath her breath about “karma” and something that sounded very much like “you'll get yours. _”_

“While you finish cleaning that up,” Ginny said, swinging her leg over the bench, “I’m just going to—”

Harry quickly stood up. “I’ll go.”

Four sets of eyes turned to look at him, but Harry only cared to meet Ginny’s. He generally didn’t go out of his way for anyone besides Ron or Hermione, and maybe it was stupid of him to show his hand like this in front of everyone—Ron especially—but it seemed _right..._ even if his stomach was clenched with nerves at the prospect of being woefully let down by one Weasley or another.

Ginny, frozen halfway out of her seat, stared at him. “I’m sorry. Go where?”

“To get the soup for you.”

“I’m not an invalid,” Ginny protested.

Harry almost laughed at how madly he wanted her and the perfectly stubborn set of her bruised jaw. “I never said you were.”

“You know,” said Ron suddenly, looking at Harry in mild confusion, “you don’t have to be nice to her.”

“She’s you’re sister, mate, not mine,” said Harry shortly.

What possessed him to say it, he wasn’t sure, but the look on Ron’s face was one of bemusement, at least, which was far less concerning to Harry than pure anger like he’d been expecting.

“Well, yeah, obviously,” said Ron. “But what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means… it means that I’m friends with her as well as you.”

Ron stared at him. A small part of Harry hoped Ron would figure it out, so that he wouldn’t have to say _I fancy your sister_ aloud like some utter prick, but Ginny broke through the not-so-private conversation before Harry made a further fool of himself.

“I’ll go with you,” she said.

Before Harry could utter any sort of protest, Ginny was shimming between the bench and the table. She disappeared beneath it, only to reemerge beside him a moment later. Her arm brushed against his as she righted herself, and even under Ron’s long look, Harry did nothing to distance himself from her.

**VI. Here’s that Karma You Ordered**

**(Ginny)**

“Oh, he’s got it _bad._ ”

Ginny looked up at her friend’s comment, and her gaze locked onto Harry’s. He was waiting for her beside the entrance to Slughorn’s classroom. The shock of seeing him there gave way to an abrupt thrill, the feel akin to taking a sharp dive on her broomstick. Her lips tugged up on their own accord, and Harry grinned broadly back at her.

“Two days in a row.”

“I thought it was three.”

“Did you plant the hair tie this time?”

Twisting around and walking backwards so that Harry could not see the wild look on her face, Ginny hissed at her friends, “A little louder next time?”

The girls dissolved into a fit of giggles and melded into a group of Hufflepuffs across the corridor. When Ginny turned back to face Harry, he was smirking and holding up her beloved hair tie.

“Well?” he said as she stepped up to him.

She tipped her chin up at him. “Well, what?”

“ _Did_ you plant it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, trying for innocent but failing not to grin.

She had definitely planted it.

Harry hummed in response, deep suspicion clouding the small sound, and handed it over. Ginny immediately began to thread her hair through it, unabashedly watching him watch her. The mesmerized look settling on his face had her internally _screaming_.

This had to be a dream. _He_ was a dream, wild and confusing and utterly maddening. The amount of attention he’d randomly bestowed her with could not be a coincidence, and this was in no way just friendly banter, she was sure of it now. This was something else, something entirely theirs, shiny and brand new.

“You know, you didn’t have to come all this way,” she told him. “It’s just a hair tie.”

Harry shrugged, but his eyes were sparkling behind his specs. “I had a free period, and I thought you might miss it.”

“I see.” Finished tying up her hair, Ginny began twisting at a strand from her ponytail. She couldn’t stop herself even if she tried. “You know, you never said...”

“Never said what?”

“How you knew this one was my favorite.”

Harry ducked his head and scuffed a shoe across the flagstone floor, but Ginny still saw the heat that stole across his cheeks, and she wondered if this was it, if this was going to be the moment he declared his feelings for her...

It all came crashing down when she spied Dean Thomas over Harry’s shoulder, advancing on them with a determined look on his face.

In a fit of desperation, Ginny grabbed Harry’s arm and tugged him closer. She wished more than anything that she could savor his nearness, the gentle touch of his hand as he caught her arm, too, the warmth radiating off him, the smell of him, all fresh air and clean linen. The look of concern he bestowed her with, like he’d do anything she asked of him, almost made her want to cry.

“What’s wrong?” said Harry.

“I’m sorry,” she said weakly.

The angle she met him with was miscalculated in her haste, her mouth brushing the corners of his when she tiptoed up to kiss him on the cheek. A startled noise escaped Harry, and she quickly pulled away, hating that she could not linger longer. Half a second was not enough to sink into the feeling of him and her and _them_ , together.

_Damn it._

Her heart was hammering so loudly she was sure Harry could hear it, too.

As if in a fog, Harry breathed, “What’s going on?”

From beneath her lashes, Ginny could see Dean storming away. Harry slowly followed her line of sight, and when he turned back to look at her, his expression was _thunderous_. “Is he bothering you?”

“No, not really.”

Harry gave her a disbelieving look.

“Well, I mean, yeah,” she huffed, “a bit, but—”

“Don’t make excuses for him,” said Harry indignantly.

“I’ve told him to bugger off, but he keeps needling me and demanding answers I shouldn’t have to give him and—”

“I could kill him,” Harry suggested frankly. “For you. If you want.”

Ginny laughed, disturbed and yet strangely flattered.

_For you._

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

“I mean it,” he responded, his tone lighter now.

“I think I’ve taken care of it,” she said. “We can forget this ever happened.”

The words rang heavier than she’d intended, and Ginny wished she could pluck them out of the hanging silence and swallow them back up. Harry’s smile, already small, fell just a fraction at the corners, enough of a signal that she had upset him, fucked this all up, reversed everything they’d been working up to.

Harry nodded once, hard, mouth working itself into a grim line. “Yeah, right. Of course.”

Scrambling to fix her mistake, Ginny rambled, “I mean… maybe… unless you—”

“O _ho_!”

Once again, Ginny and Harry were interrupted by a professor, though this time it was Slughorn. If they hadn’t already attracted her every classmates’ attention with the little performance she had forced Harry into, Slughorn chortling at them and remarking upon their close proximity finished the job.

“I hate to break up this tête-à-tête,” said Slughorn, his large grin rounding his cheeks out even further, “but I cannot delay our class, you two! Move along now, Harry, m’boy!”

“I’ll see you around,” said Harry quickly, backing away from her with careful, measured steps.

Feeling uncommonly cold, Ginny hugged her arms to herself and said despondently, “Yeah. See you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure when the next chapter will be up. Please remember, I'm not having this beta read. All mistakes are my own. Feel free to let me know if you find something. Enjoy.

**VII. All Aboard the Rumor Express**

**(Harry)**

“Some best mate you are.”

Harry looked up from his Transfiguration essay, thankful for the distraction. Back from their jaunt to the library, Ron and Hermione approached the corner of the common room where he had tucked himself away. The look on Ron’s face reminded Harry of a raging bull, and Hermione’s of a very concerned spectator.

Ron slammed several large textbooks down on the table, violently rattling Harry’s ink pot and making half a dozen students revising nearby jump and glare at him.

“Exactly when were you going to tell me you fancied my sister?” said Ron.

It was almost as if a bucket of ice had been dumped on Harry’s head at the words. Every inch of him froze in instant shock, save for his brain, which was rather like a slushy sea of crashing questions hammering against the inside of his skull. What had he done? What had he said? For Ron to (rightfully) accuse him, Harry must have done something blatant, _stupid_.

Yet still, with this dreadful moment upon him, his only regret was that he had not made his sentiments known to the one person that mattered: Ginny.

“D’you know I had to hear it from bloody Zacharias Smith?” Ron railed on.

“I— _what_?” Harry sat back in his chair and blinked at Ron in surprised confusion. “Smith? What does he know about—”

“Were you or were you not snogging Ginny outside of Slughorn’s classroom?”

The puzzle pieces fell promptly into place at the mention of the location of this made up tryst. It seemed the rumor mill at Hogwarts was chugging along as strong as ever, and Harry was once again swept up in it’s powerful cycle. He’d never wished for such a rumor to be true as much as this one, though, and he wondered if Ginny had heard of it yet, and _if_ she had, what she’d thought of it. Did the mention of it take her back to that very moment like it did for Harry?

Even then, with Ron berating him, Harry slipped into that shining split second of the past where Ginny was in his arms and he was breathing her air and their lips had practically met. The what ifs and could’ve beens he’d been dreaming up for the last several hours had exhausted him: if he’d turned his face just a _fraction_ of an inch, if he’d been _bolder_ with his affections for her, _clearer_ with his intentions… they could’ve been… _so much._

He was going to go wild at this rate, and if Ginny did not soon tame him, he feared the lengths he’d go to to see that she did.

The sound of Ron pulling out the chair across from him brought Harry back into the pitiless present. Ron deflated into it, his face like that of a weary father trying to wrangle his misbehaving child.

“Listen,” began Ron, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t mind it. Really. But you could have told me. _Warned_ me.”

Hermione threw Harry a commiserating look. “It’s none of your business, Ron.”

Saving Hermione the impending argument, for Ron looked fit to burst, Harry quickly said, “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t snogging Ginny outside of Slughorn’s classroom, so there’s nothing to be upset about.”

“Then what the hell is going on?” said Ron.

“Dean was coming up to her.” It was like speaking through a mouthful of sand, but Harry made sure to raise his voice; he’d noticed his fellow housemates had all stilled to listen in on the conversation, eyes unmoving as they stared down at their books. One girl’s quill hovered for so long that it was leaving a pool of ink on her parchment. “I happened to be near, so she just… I don’t know. Let him—and apparently everyone else—come to their own conclusions.”

Harry’s voice was laden with gloom. Everything about this was _miserable._ Denying the false gossip to Ron yet wishing it were true was one thing, but this had to be inconveniencing Ginny with all sorts of unwanted attention, too. All Harry wanted to do now was find her, talk to her, make sure she was okay. But she’d said she wanted to forget what had happened...

“We aren’t together,” he said with finality.

“Oh,” said Ron.

Harry sank deeper into his chair. “Yeah.”

Ron looked at him shrewdly. “Well, if you two were—” Here, he gesticulated wildly with his hands. “—I wouldn’t mind much, all right?”

Ron’s lukewarm blessing did nothing but sully Harry’s mood further.

Beside him, Hermione let out an exasperated sigh.

**VIII. What To Do with Lemons**

**(Ginny)**

The opportunity to apologize to Harry following their disastrous meeting outside Potions was fleeting. OWLs were fast approaching, and Ginny’s spare time was filled with study dates with her dorm mates late into the night, revision in the library after classes, and practical group exercises on the weekends, sometimes on Potions, rarely on Charms, and always on Defense. They _did_ pass one another in the corridor outside of Gryffindor Tower a week later, but with a group of fourth years watching eagerly nearby, Ginny allowed the nod Harry sent her in acknowledgment and nothing more. She’d like to think she would have pulled him aside to talk right then, but his jaw had twitched, and he’d barely even looked at her...

“He’s mad at me,” said Ginny to Hermione, whom she’d bumped into in the girls’ lavatory between Transfiguration and Muggle Studies on a sunny Thursday afternoon.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny in the mirror as she finished washing her hands.

“Doubtful,” said Hermione, reaching for a hand towel. “If he was mad at you, you’d know.”

“But I do know,” insisted Ginny, catching Hermione’s bag as it began to slip off the girl’s shoulder. “Those rumors certainly didn’t help, and—Merlin’s balls, how many boulders have you got in here?”

Hermione easily adjusted the bag with semi-wet fingers, and the hand towel fluttered away to the hamper in the corner. “I don’t think he’s ignoring you on purpose.”

“Well, he hasn’t come looking for me.”

Not only was Ginny the kind of person to never skip a meal, conveniently, they were served at the same time everyday. She also made a point to tell everyone who’d listen where she was going, and exactly how long they could find her there, so that if Harry ever wanted to locate her, he’d know precisely where she was and when. And then, of course, he had that map of his.

This led her to the very conclusion: Harry was avoiding her.

“You haven’t gone looking for him, either,” said Hermione pointedly.

Ginny adjusted her pointed, black hat so that the brim further hid her face. She was tired of being dragged into random groups of students, most of which she’d never found herself hanging out with, just to dispel the rumors she’d been submerged in. The hat, which half the student population had abandoned after being struck from the dress code several years ago, accommodated a certain level of anonymity.

“I’ve been busy,” Ginny responded defensively.

She dilly-dallied by the sinks, but Hermione did not take the hint and started towards the exit. Reluctantly, Ginny followed.

“You can always ask him for help with Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Hermione opened the lavatory door in a flourish to reveal Harry and Ron at the end of the corridor, swinging their bags at one another and dodging out of the way before getting hit. “He’ll say yes, you know he will. And you can spring an apology on him then.”

“Or maybe I could leave that hair tie lying around again?” Ginny suggested feebly.

With a sigh of utter vexation, Hermione said, “You’re here, talking to me. You’ve clearly got time on your hands.”

“What? Now?”

Hermione grabbed Ginny by the arm just as Harry looked up and caught sight of them. He stopped so suddenly that he also caught Ron’s bag right to the groin. He doubled over, and Ron burst into unrestrained laughter.

Ginny winced at the display of masculine stupidity. “He seems occupied.”

“He’s not,” said Hermione flatly, and pulled Ginny into a brisk walking pace.

“This feels very adult, you know.” Ginny gripped her hat with her free hand, holding it in place as Hermione marched them towards the boys. “And I’m not an adult. I don’t want to be an adult.”

“Yes, but this is your lemon—”

“My what?”

“—and it’s time to make lemonade.”

**IX. The Blows**

**(Harry)**

It was unfortunate that Harry had spotted Ginny right before he’d caught a blow to his bollocks. The pain was excruciating, radiating from his gut and through his body like a sharply cast Cruciatus Curse. It took every ounce of strength within him to grit his teeth and straighten up as Hermione and Ginny stepped up to them.

“Are you two done now?” said Hermione waspishly.

Ron clapped Harry on the back, almost pitching him forward onto his knees. “Harry is.”

“That was a low blow, Ron,” Ginny said.

Ginny’s tone bordered on outraged, and Harry took that moment to look at her. She had her long, red hair plaited and resting over one shoulder, and the witches hat she wore was so low that it swallowed her eyebrows completely. When Ginny tilted her face up and met his gaze with blazing eyes, her cheeks flared like the raspberry red of a dusk lit sky. Harry’s blood did a quick sweep through his veins, and he almost forgot about the pain in his groin.

“Exactly,” countered Ron, “and you were just the distraction I needed to win.”

The statement was sharp, the hidden accusation clear. Harry avoided Ron’s scrutinizing eyes, but he did nothing to stymie the insinuation laid bare before him.

“Can I talk to you?” Ginny asked Harry, ignoring Ron but perhaps even more red in the face as she reached out and curled her small hand around his forearm.

“Er, yeah,” said Harry.

He traded a look with Ron, whose eyes narrowed deliberately on the spot of contact between Harry and Ginny. It was agony to do it, but Harry carefully pulled away from her.

Placated, Ron allowed Hermione to lead him towards the moving staircases at the end of the corridor. Harry turned back to Ginny, admired the graceful arc of her neck as she stared down at her feet. He could not see enough of her face to read it, covered as it was by the rim of her hat, but the way her hands were clasped together, knuckles bright white beneath her pale skin, was enough of an indication to Harry that she was more than upset.

Life continued around them as they lapsed into silence, punctuated by the sound of chirping birds from the large, open windows and loud laughter from the groaning stairway nearby. A couple of first years passed them by and blatantly stared at them over their shoulders. Without so much as a word, Harry and Ginny stepped over to a small, sun-drenched alcove that displayed a bust of Bowman Wright, creator of the Golden Snitch.

When she finally turned towards him, head dipped back to meet his eyes, her jaw was tense, and her lips were drawn in a line. “Hi.”

Harry couldn’t tell if he should have a shield charm up and ready. The greeting she gave him was hard and heated, like she’d forced it from the very depths of her soul.

“Hi,” he said warily. “Alright?”

Ginny threw her arms up in a sudden fit of agitation. “You know, I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

Unable to help himself, Harry replied, “Maybe it’s because you can’t find me from beneath that hat.”

She squinted up at him, and he would have thought he’d annoyed her further, except her mouth twitched at the corners. Harry knew he had her, and he leaned into the curved wall behind him, relieved and grinning.

“Funny,” said Ginny, roughly pulling off her pointed hat. “Very funny.”

There was a small line across her eyebrows from where the band of the hat had rested, and her hair, though braided back, had so many fly-aways around the crown that she looked as if she’d just swung off her broomstick after a quick match of two-a-side Quidditch.

And Harry thought at once, _No one has the right to look so_ _good_ _._

Ginny shook the hat at him. “This works almost as well as a Disillusionment Charm, I’ll have you know.”

“Does it?”

“People think we’re together. You’ve heard, haven’t you?”

It was the only thing he’d heard about for the past _week_.

On several occasions, Harry had had to reject the rumor of a relationship between himself and Ginny to a number of gabby girls from all houses and years. At first, the invasive queries he’d been subjected to had stunned him; his peers could be bloody _bold_ sometimes, asking for details and exact dates to events that had never happened, as if they were writing a column on the two of them and needed to verify their sources. More recently, however, as the gossip was corrected, Harry had been fielding questions from members of his own sex over those of the opposite. Just today, a tall and brazen seventh year from Hufflepuff had accosted Harry outside of the greenhouses after Herbology and followed up with a “great, thanks!” after Harry had grudgingly told him that Ginny was, in fact, single.

“I have,” said Harry simply, unwilling to elaborate and further distress her.

Ginny pressed herself into the wall opposite of him, shoulders hunched. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“It’s...” Harry struggled with himself for a moment. Of _course_ it was a lot, but there was no way he could admit this to Ginny; it would sound too much like he was blaming her, when really, this was all a byproduct of being shut up in a hormone-fueled school in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s shit, I know. You can say it.” With her next breath, brown eyes wide and pleading, Ginny said, “I’m so sorry I pulled you into this. I had no right—”

“Don’t, Gin—”

“–and you didn’t ask for any of this. I feel like such a twat putting you in this position—”

“Stop,” said Harry firmly. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not.” Ginny crumpled her hat in balled fists. “This isn’t—”

The warning bell to get to class within the next five minutes sounded, effectively cutting Ginny off. When the ringing stopped, Harry said in a rush, “I would have agreed.”

Ginny’s face morphed into one of confusion. “Agreed? To what?”

“To be your… I dunno, fake boyfriend,” he said. “If you’d managed to ask, I would have agreed.”


End file.
